


Butterflies

by fictionallemons



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Benji, Castles, Cinnamon rolls, Eavesdropping, Ethan is oblivious again, First Kiss, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mission Fic, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sexual Tension, Tuxedos, vans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionallemons/pseuds/fictionallemons
Summary: When Ethan inadvertently finds out Benji has feelings for someone on the team, he jumps to conclusions and tries to play matchmaker. Can Ilsa help him salvage this misguided mission?





	1. In the van

Ethan is not usually the one left behind in the van. He sprained his ankle yesterday sprinting for a train and since he's going to need to be mobile tomorrow, he accepted the team's consensus that he stay off it in the meantime. It's bandaged and elevated and he's settled in as best he can. In the van.

Ostensibly, he's supposed to be monitoring the comms and going over the intelligence they've already gathered, but there's not much to do on that score. He shifts again on the low wheeled stool that Benji uses to travel between his many screens. It's pretty uncomfortable. No wonder Benji's always sneaking away to get a massage whenever they have downtime; he’d need to relieve his sore back muscles after being hunched over computer monitors for hours on end. Maybe they can find him a more ergonomic — van stool? That probably isn't a thing.

Ethan runs his fingers lightly over Benji's keyboard. The tech had given him strict instructions not to touch anything unless he absolutely had to. Ethan has a healthy respect for Benji's proprietary attitude toward the tech. He isn't entirely hopeless when it came to computers, but he doesn't have Benji's magic touch, and he has no intention of accidentally messing something up. So he sticks to his own tablet to run through the names and faces of the players in tomorrow night's op, leaving Benji's precious gear alone.

Benji and Ilsa are a kilometer away, testing the security of the castle walls. Yes, they have been invited to a legit ball at a castle tomorrow night—or at least Ethan, in the guise of a Canadian lumber baron, has. It’s their one chance to obtain the codes to unlock a—honestly, it's not worth getting into. The point is Benji and Ilsa are out there doing their job while Ethan's stuck in the van doing homework.

A voice comes over a speaker in the van. “Monarch, do you read me?”

“I read you, Swallowtail, over.”

“The egg is hatching, Monarch.”

“Copy that. Rendezvous 6-7.”

“Copy. Over and out.”

Swallowtail, aka Quentin Drake, the newest member of their team, is in the nearby village shadowing the highest profile guest at tomorrow night's ball. It seems everything is going according to the plan, and they'll all rendezvous later at the village pub where they've taken rooms during the op. Ethan just has to kill a little more time until Benji and Ilsa are done and they can get some hearty pub food for dinner and turn in early. He flexes his foot cautiously. Not much pain. It's not a bad sprain, just bad enough not to be able to walk it off.

He glances at his watch and sighs. It's too early to check in with the other two, and they're supposed to maintain radio silence as much as possible. Ethan rests his elbow on a weapons case, scans through another page of faces and names. He yawns, stretches, and his elbow clips the edge of a monitor which is in the middle of parsing code. The monitor swivels, and as Ethan reaches to straighten it, the wheels of the van stool slip in the opposite direction, throwing him off balance. He throws himself the other way to stop the stool from sliding, and it seems he's toggled something because a voice suddenly fills the van. It's Ilsa. Ethan only half listens to what she's saying as he frantically tries to figure out what the hell he did to activate the comm.

"…think you should tell him. It'll be a weight off your mind," she's saying.

"I've thought about it a lot, and it's just not a good idea, Painted Lady." That's Benji's voice. Painted Lady is Ilsa's current code name. They're all butterflies. Benji is Morpho, after the iridescent blue species. Ethan might have been thinking of Benji's eyes when he'd chosen the names.

"Give me one reason why you shouldn't tell him," she says.

"Oh, how about when he's shocked and appalled then we still have to work together and it'll be awkward as fuck."

"He's not going to be shocked and appalled."

"Says you."

They go silent. Ethan realizes he's been holding his breath. He doesn't know if the comm is open both ways, but for some reason he doesn't want Benji and Ilsa to know that he's heard them. They're obviously talking about someone on the team and it didn't seem right to be listening to their private conversation.

"Location 4A is secure. Moving on to 4B," Benji says.

"Copy that. Almost done with 5C," Ilsa replies.

"'Course you are," Benji says, but he's not actually grumpy. Ethan's noticed the two of them have gotten along much better since they were both nearly killed by Lane in Kashmir. He supposes it was sort of a bonding experience, and since Ilsa helps them out from time to time now, it's nice to see two of his favorite people getting closer. Apparently, they're close enough that Ilsa is giving Benji advice on—what?

"Just ask him out. Casually."

Are they talking about Benji's love life here? Ethan's stomach tightens. Does Benji have a thing for someone? On their team?

"Right, I'll just casually ask if after we're done saving the world he wants to go get a pint," Benji says.

"What have you got to lose?" Ilsa says. "Location 5C secure. Moving onto 5D."

Benji wants to ask someone one out. A _him_. Which leaves not that many options, if they're talking about active members of their team. Somehow he doesn't see Benji holding a torch for Luther or Will, considering both of them are straight and commitment-phobic as they come, and not actually on the current mission. Which only leaves…Quentin Drake.

Ethan's stomach does that cramping up thing again. It all makes sense. Quentin's new, so that's why this is coming up now. He's young and eager, probably about fifteen years Ethan's junior, which makes him seven or eight years young than Benji. Not a huge age difference. He's tall and good-looking, a slimmer Idris Elba. He even has a British accent. _Shit._

Ethan's palms go unaccountably sweaty when he thinks about how much Quentin and Benji have in common. Quentin's also an Oxford grad, and Ethan has heard him geek out more than once about Doctor Who and retro horror movies. They'd make a cute couple, so why does Benji sound so sure he'll be shot down? Quentin would be an idiot not to want to date the funniest, wisest, most brilliant member of their team.

It's been quiet over the comms for a while, so Ethan thinks maybe the connection has closed, and then Benji starts talking again, filling up the little van with his familiar, dear voice.

"What have I got to lose? It feels like everything on some days and nothing on others. When we're together, it's like all is right with the world, even if it's coming down around our ears. Why would I risk that? There's absolutely no way he feels for me even a fraction of what I feel for him. I'd much rather keep what we have, keeping working together, keep being friends. Friends isn't bad, you know. Friends is quite something."

"Stop quoting _Four Weddings and Funeral_ , Morpho. And stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Benji's chuckle, warm and alive over the comm, makes Ethan smile involuntarily.

"Caught me, Painted Lady. I'll meet you at rendezvous 1-0."

"Copy, Morpho. Over and out."

Ethan lets out a breath, and his eyes fall on the laptop that's running the comms. In two keystrokes he's terminated the connection. The silence inside the van leaves him plenty of room for his thoughts. So Benji likes Quentin. _Likes_ might be too mild of a word. The tone of this voice, the wistfulness. He sounds like he's in love.

Ethan's not certain why the idea of Benji in love with Quentin makes him want to throw up, but he does know that if he can help Benji not sound so sad, he'll do it. Benji deserves all the happiness in the world. Ethan's put him through so much. Helping him with this is the least he can do.

Getting Benji a date with Quentin shouldn't be too difficult. He just needs a plan. And Ethan Hunt is very, very good at plans.


	2. At the hotel

Benji hopes the shower in his hotel room has good water pressure. After tramping around the English countryside all day with Ilsa, he's chilled to the bone, despite his high-tech long underwear. There's just something about a chilly, damp British day that has the power to seep through layers of smartwool and nanofibers. He inhales the pub dinner, which he takes alone so the locals won't associate him with the rest of the team. It's a bit lonely. Ethan has to eat in his room; he can't be seen at this location at all, if he's to keep his cover as a wealthy party guest. Ilsa chooses to do the same. He spies Quentin at the bar, but pretends not to know him. When he's finished, he makes a beeline for his room. They have nothing on until noon the next day, when they'll start the countdown for obtaining the codes at the ball.

The ball. Benji snorts under his breath as he starts the shower. They spray is not tremendously powerful, but the water's nice and hot. Ethan's going to be dressed to the nines for the occasion—they always travel with his tux for such occasions. Benji both loves and hates Ethan's tux. It fits him like a glove and superfluously reminds Benji what a striking man Ethan is. Still, it's just a costume—he knows Ethan prefers jeans and t-shirts and boots to black tie. While Ethan's schmoozing, Ilsa will scale the castle's walls and then sneak into the master suite, cat-burglar style. Quentin will be back-up, posing as a society photographer from London. His camera will be a direct feed to the van, which is where Benji will be, in his rightful place. No ball for Benji.

He's not exactly Cinderella. His prince is not waiting for him to make an appearance at the ball. His prince doesn't think about Benji like that, not in all the years he's known him. But Benji knew, right from the start. He knew there wouldn't be another man that exasperated him like Ethan Hunt. Benji's spent the better part of a decade making sure that Ethan never finds out how much Benji loves being exasperated.

He steps out of the shower, finally warm, and dresses in his coziest pajamas, which consist of flannel pants and a faded Man United jersey. His phone pings on the dresser. A text from Ethan.

_Asleep yet?_

Benji writes back _Nearly._

_Sorry to bother you. Just wanted a second opinion on my ankle._

Since they don't travel with a medic (though they should) each of them has enough rudimentary knowledge of field medicine to get by. He should be able to take a look at Ethan's ankle and tell if he's good to go for the op tomorrow.

_Be there in a minute._

Benji throws on his favorite hoodie and a pair of oatmeal colored socks. Not particularly glamorous, but he knows Ethan doesn't care. That's the problem. He sighs. Talking about his feelings with Ilsa had been a mistake. Normally, Benji doesn't have a problem keeping the fact that he's in love with his best friend and team leader separate from actually working with him. He's a master at compartmentalization. But Ilsa had poked and prodded, and, in a weak moment, he told her that yes, he has feelings for Ethan, and no, he isn't going to do anything about it. Of course, she thinks he's being, in her words, "a knob." But she doesn't know Ethan like Benji does. Ethan is…untouchable. He's still in love with his ex-wife, for heaven's sake. But Ilsa had just shook her head when he'd brought up that fact. "I think he's ready to move on," she'd said, just last week. "She's married to someone else, remember?"

That doesn't mean he's ready for a relationship with Benji, of all people. Not the kind of relationship Benji wants, anyway. The kind that consumes you and ruins you for anyone else. That's what Benji wants. Benji wants forever. He wants Ethan to be his in every possible way. Perhaps Ilsa thinks if he told Ethan, some of the tension of unrequited love would lessen, that Benji's feelings would fade away. But Benji can't take the look that would inevitably come over Ethan's face if he told him. Shock? Pity? Discomfort? No, that would not be happening. Ever.

Benji taps lightly on Ethan's door, then tries the handle. It's unlocked, so he walks in. Ethan's laying back on the bed, wearing a similar ensemble to Benji's, pajama pants and a t-shirt, with a dark gray hoodie for another layer of warmth. His bad ankle is still wrapped up, and he's got it resting on a pillow. Ethan smiles and sets down his phone.

"Thanks, Benji," he says. "I know you want to turn in, but I'm not sure about this ankle."

"No worries," Benji says easily, trying let go of the tension of wanting to climb on top of Ethan right here and now in order to kiss away his hurts. "Let's take a look."

Benji sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Have you been icing it?"

"Off and on," Ethan says. "I thought it would feel better than it does after keeping off it all day."

Benji unwraps the stretchy bandage carefully. The ankle doesn't look too bad, but it's sort of hard to tell, covered as it is by the impression of the bandage. He starts to feel the joint, looking for signs of swelling, probing gently with his fingers. Ethan sucks in a breath, as if in pain. "You should take something if it hurts."

Ethan's voice is gravelly when he says, "Maybe I will."

"Well, it doesn't seem swollen. I think what you're doing it working. If you keep resting until go-time tomorrow, I wouldn't be worried." Benji rotates the ankle gently. "Does that hurt?"

"A little," Ethan says breathlessly. "I'm not sure if I'm going to be ready."

Benji laughs lightly; Ethan's always ready. But then he catches sight of Ethan's face. He looks pale, as if the ankle is really bothering him. Benji lets go of Ethan and goes to the bathroom in search of pain meds. An injured Ethan always puts him on edge. "You're serious? You don't think you can do the op?"

"We can do the op. But I think you should go in and quarterback from the party. I'll stay in the van."

"In the van?" Benji echoes.

"I kind of like it in there," Ethan says, a small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in such a way that Benji has to avert his gaze and focus very hard on opening the pill bottle he's found.

"You like it in the van? Okay." Benji isn't sold. There must be some other reason that Ethan wants to change the plan, but he can't think of one. He fills a glass with water from the tap, shakes two pills into his hand and brings them both to Ethan.

Ethan takes the pills, washes them down. "Thank you. And you'll be great. You can run the show with your eyes shut."

"I don't think I trust you in the van," Benji says, ignoring the compliment. "You definitely touched some of my stuff today."

"It was that damn wheeled stool. It had me drifting everywhere," Ethan complains.

"There's an art to the van. It can't be taught, it just is." Benji's only half joking.

"So it's decided," Ethan goes on as if Benji hasn't spoken. "You'll be Aaron Gillespie, Canadian lumber baron, and I'll be…you."

Benji thinks of a way out of this. "But I've been seen here…not the sort of place a posh lumber baron would stay."

"Yeah, but you're Canadian. You can be quirky and into the local color."

"I guess." Benji is not convinced.

"Quentin will be at the party, too, remember? Once Ilsa's out with the codes, you and he should stick around, enjoy yourselves."

"You want us to stay at the party after the op is over?"

"It'll be suspicious if you leave too soon. The two of you deserve a little break. I already gave him orders to stay until midnight."

"Um. Okay. Are you sure about this?"

A flash of something crosses Ethan's face but it's gone too quickly for Benji to figure out what it means. "Of course. You'll do great," he says softly.

And that's how Benji ends up dressed in his own tuxedo—hey, you never know when you'll need one—ready to step out at the ball.


	3. Back in the van

Ethan's not certain he's made the right call at all, once he catches sight of Quentin dressed for the op. The agent is wearing a fitted gray suit, whit shirt, slim silver tie. He's got a top of the line DSLR that Benji's doctored with all sorts of extras, and a press pass for something called SocietyPages.uk. He looks way too hot to be a press photographer, but it can't be helped. Ilsa's driving the van to the castle gates, where they'll drop off Quentin before traveling to their prearranged location on the other side of the walls. From there, she'll make her way inside. Benji is driving himself separately in a Rolls Royce procured from an impound lot in Leeds.

"Comm check," Ethan says. "Come in Swallowtail."

"I read you, Monarch," Quentin says from two feet away. "Sorry you're missing out on this one."

"It couldn't be helped," Ethan says. "Morpho's a pro. You guys don't need me for this."

"You'll be able to see and hear everything anyway," Quentin says, indicating the camera. "You want me to stick close to Morpho, right?"

"Affirmative," Ethan says. He has no doubt that given the right mix of suits, alcohol, and adrenaline from a successfully completed op, Benji and Quentin will be able to let down their guard. He swallows down a wave of nausea. Maybe he's a little carsick.

"We're here," Ilsa says. Quentin hops out of the van, shows his credentials to the security guards at the gate. "Swallowtail is green lit," she says, as he's waved through. She starts driving toward the access point. "What are you doing?" This is to Ethan, off the comm.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, your ankle is fine. Why did you change the plan?"

"I just thought it would be nice for Benji to get a change of scenery. To work a little closer with Quentin," Ethan says.

Ilsa shrugs. "Whatever." They drive in silence through the dark night. Ethan tries to picture Benji and Quentin toasting a job well done, laughing over a glass of whisky, and the nausea hits him again. Maybe Ilsa can reassure him that he hasn't set into motion something monumentally stupid.

"You and Benji have been getting along lately," Ethan says.

Ilsa hums. "It took me longer than it should have to see that he's more than what he appears. Benji is, well, he's kind of irresistible."

Ethan can't help but agree. "Do you think Quentin thinks so?"

"Quentin? He and Benji work well together. Don't you think?"

"Yes. But I meant…on a more personal level."

"What…you think Quentin is interested in Benji?" Ilsa's voice holds skepticism.

"I don't know. But Benji is, as you say, irresistible. It doesn't seem that far fetched."

"I suppose not…but what's all this about? Are you playing matchmaker, Ethan?"

Ethan grimaces. "In a way…I just wanted to do something nice for Benji. And I overheard the two of you talking yesterday, about how he was interested in Quentin and I thought maybe if I gave them a chance to be alone together…well. Nature would take its course."

Ilsa parks the van and whirls around in her seat to eye Ethan intently. "You heard us talking. About Quentin."

"Well, yeah. Benji said he had feelings for him, but that he didn't want to mess up their friendship. But it's clear he wants more, and Quentin obviously likes Benji, so it seemed like they just needed a push." It sounds kind of crazy when said out loud.

"You're an idiot." Ilsa checks her watch. "I have to go. You stay here and try not to bollocks anything else up. When I get back we can straighten this mess out."

"Hey!" Ilsa is out of the van and has slammed the door closed with a bit more force than necessary before Ethan can mumble under his breath, "What mess?"

He sighs. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. It's just that when it comes to Benji, he doesn't always act in the most logical manner. Ever since they started going on missions together, Ethan's taken special care with him. Not because Benji can't hold his own. He can and does, every time. It's more that Ethan loves that Benji still seems to think that being an IMF field agent is…fun. Benji sometimes acts like their life is one big video game. Ethan never wants him to lose that sense of adventure. He never wants him to get tired of the field, to get tired of Ethan and all his shenanigans. He loves working with Benji. Ethan would do anything to keep Benji on his team. Even set him up with someone. Maybe he understands where Benji is coming from, a little. If he had feelings for someone on his team, Benji, for instance, he'd probably keep it to himself rather than risk their working relationship and friendship over the hope of something more.

Just then, the monitors start flashing, filling with images from the party.

"We're online, Monarch," Quentin says over the comm.

"Good work, Swallowtail."

He sees Benji entering the party on one of the screens. He looks dapper and elegant and Ethan's mouth drops slightly.

"Nice tux, Morpho," Ethan says over the comm, without thinking.

"Thanks, Monarch."

He sees Benji smile a little at the compliment, then watches as he weaves through the crowd.

"Keep Morpho in your sights, Swallowtail."

"Copy that."

And then they're in the zone, identifying and marking potential threats to Ilsa's infiltration mission, blocking and weaving, and moving as a well-oiled machine to the completion of the mission. Forty minutes later, Isla's got the codes in hand and is returning to the van.

"The package is secure," Ethan says. "I'm cutting you loose, Swallowtail, Morpho. Rendezvous 4-3."

Ilsa and Ethan will transmit the codes and they'll all travel back to London tomorrow for the next phase of the mission.

Quentin's left the video feed running. Since there are a few major international persons of interest at the party, the extra data can be sent back to headquarters to see if anything useful turns up. Ilsa returns to the van holding not a memory stick, but a scrap of paper with a few lines of numbers written on it.

"Old school," Ethan remarks.

"Like taking candy from the proverbial baby," Ilsa says. Her cheeks are flushed from her jaunt over ten foot walls, but she looks happy. She loves this life as much as Benji does. Ethan grins at her.

They connect to headquarters and transmit the codes. Ethan relays the return message to Ilsa. "We're to go to the rendezvous and await further orders."

"Hope it's something more challenging than that lot," Ilsa says.

"Be careful what you wish for," Ethan says.

"So should you." Ilsa nods toward the monitor. He can see Benji in the frame, smiling and then laughing. He looks handsome. Happy. Ethan feels his own smile fade in response, which doesn't make any sense.

"Will you explain to me what you think I've messed up, please? Benji's having a nice night."

"I'm sure he got a kick out of getting to be the belle of the ball," Ilsa says. "The only problem is, his prince isn't going to show up."

"What do you mean? Quentin's right there."

Ilsa sucks in a breath through her nose and closes her eyes in the universal sign of a woman trying to fathom how unbelievably dense a man is being. "You know, I really thought you were smarter than this."

"Than what—just tell me—put me out of my misery."

"That's just it—you're miserable, aren't you? You're trying to make Benji happy and making yourself hideously unhappy in the process. Did you ever stop to think why?"

"Why?" Ethan stops. He thinks. He watches Benji on the screen. He takes in his friend's wise blue eyes, his sharp chin, his strong shoulders. He thinks about Benji's voice when he was talking about the man he had feelings for. He feels something happen to his heart. It feels dangerously full, as if it's swollen with hope that Benji might have been talking about—could he have been talking about—

"We need to get back to the hotel."

Ilsa grins and guns the engine. "Copy that."


	4. At the castle

Benji's tired. He's tired of laughing and pretending to drink and meeting people. He's tired of the silence over the comm. He's tired of wearing a tuxedo and his feet are tired of their patent leather shoes. Quentin is a good bloke, but for some reason he's sticking to Benji like glue and Benji's tired of it. He's just…tired.

He's especially tired of having to pretend like he's not in love with Ethan Hunt. Lately it's been a heavy burden to bear. Maybe it's time to bring things out in the open, to face the music, as Ilsa suggested. Once he knows that Ethan doesn't— _couldn't_ —feel the same way, then maybe his stupid, moronic heart can forget about him. Find someone else.

Ha.

He glances at his watch. It's just about midnight. No one will notice if he slips away. He leans closer to Quentin, who's telling a story about a professor they both had back at uni. "Do you want to get out of here?" He might as well give Quentin a ride back in the Rolls. Quentin raises his eyebrows, smirks slightly. They're not playing a role—no one around them is paying them any attention, but it makes sense to play it up a bit. The lumber baron picking up a handsome photographer at a ball. Happens all the time.

Quentin nods, and then Benji sees something that shouldn't be there. Actually, some _one_. Ethan Hunt, resplendent in a black tux, crisp white shirt, perfectly tied bow tie. He's got a five o'clock shadow and a dark, haunted look in his beautiful eyes. Benji's confused. He's aching. His heart physically hurts with how much useless love it has for the man standing a few feet away.

Somewhere, far away, a clock starts to chime midnight. The rest of the bustling, noisy party dies away as Ethan stalks toward Benji.

Benji's stomach is a swirling cloud of butterflies. He doesn't turn his head to look, but he senses Quentin melting into the background. All he can see is Ethan. The man himself stops two feet away.

"Hello." It's the only thing he can think to say that won't give away every secret in his traitorous heart.

"Hello," Ethan says back. Then, to Quentin, "Painted Lady's waiting to give you a ride back to the hotel, if you're ready to go."

Quentin's gaze flick back and forth between the two of them. "I'll just be going then," he says. Why is he smiling like that? Nothing makes sense right now. Swallowtail disappears, and then it's just the two of them, Morpho and Monarch.

"What are you doing here? Is there a problem with the package?"

"The package is taken care of. We're off the clock." Ethan has one hand in a trouser pocket, and the other is bunched into a fist at his side. For a man who's not currently under a life-or-death deadline, he's not very relaxed.

"I take it your ankle is better, then," Benji says dryly.

Ethan looks a bit abashed. "It's feeling much better, thanks."

"Was this some sort of test? Is that why you changed the play?" No scenario Benji can imagine fits.

"No, not at all. I changed the play because I thought…I was under the impression that—this is kind of embarrassing…"

Benji raises his eyebrows. He hasn't seen Ethan embarrassed very often. The man doesn't have time to be embarrassed. "Go on."

"Don't be mad—I thought you wanted to ask, uh, Swallowtail out. So I rearranged things so you could spend time with him."

Benji wasn't expecting that at all, and he lets out a surprised laugh. "What? Why would you think that?"

"So it's not true?"

Benji notices Ethan sidestep the question, but he has no reason not to answer. "Swallowtail is great. But no, never crossed my mind to ask him out." Ethan seems to relax a degree. Is that what this has been all about? Ethan trying to set him up with Quentin? The question of why doesn't seem to matter, only that Ethan has tried to set him up. Which means he obviously doesn't care if Benji dates someone else, even someone on their own team. Benji's heart sinks.

"Did you enjoy the ball?" Ethan asks.

Benji shrugs. He really just wants to be alone and marinate in his unrequited love for a while. But Ethan's still there, still dressed in a tux, still inscrutable.

"I suppose I'm stalling," Ethan says, mostly under his breath. "Look, what I really wanted to say, why I got dressed up and came here to see you is—"

There's a commotion as word is passed around the ballroom that a midnight buffet is being served in the great hall. Throngs of people in elegant clothes clamor toward the great hall in search of free food. Someone bumps into Benji, pushing him closer to Ethan, who reaches out and grabs him by the elbow to steady him. Benji practically yanks his arm away from Ethan's grasp. Ethan's mouth turns down, as if Benji's hurt him. Well, good. Benji feels prickly and sore all over.

"Listen, can we talk? Over here." Without waiting for Benji to react, Ethan grabs his hand and pulls him toward a secluded alcove, the opposite direction from the flow of traffic toward the great hall. Suddenly they're alone in a dark recess in the old stone walls. And Ethan is still holding Benji's hand. Benji tries to wrench it away; there's only so much torture he can take, but Ethan holds firm.

"What are you doing?" Benji hisses, working his way up to a temper.

"Benji, I'm sorry, I'm going about this all wrong, but I was making myself sick over imagining you wanting Quentin and when Ilsa finally knocked some sense into me, I just couldn't wait a moment longer to tell you—"

"To tell me what?"

"To tell you—that we're friends. And that's great. It's amazing, really. But I want…to be more than your friend. If you'll have me. Because I think you feel something for me besides friendship. And what I feel for you—it's got to be double or triple what you feel for me."

Benji blinks, processing what's he's heard. "That's impossible," he says.

Ethan's shoulders slump. "Oh, okay. I thought—"

"You can't possibly feel triple what I feel for you. Because I feel quite a lot. Everything, really. I'm 100%, incontrovertibly, unreservedly in love with you, Ethan Hunt."

Ethan's smile has been growing as Benji's been talking, until it's so broad and gleaming that he almost blinds Benji with his dazzling happiness.

"I think it's possible that we love each other equally, Benjamin Dunn." He takes Benji's other hand in his, so they're joined in an unbroken circle.

"Is this really happening?" Benji asks. "Did I have a stroke?"

Ethan laughs, a pure, joyous sound that sends tingles up Benji's spine. "We're healthy and whole, at the moment. And we're—" he glances around the room "—relatively alone."

Benji steps forward, backing Ethan up against the stone wall, not stopping until their chests are flush together. He doesn't let go of Ethan's strong, capable hands. He never wants to let go. His gaze locks on Ethan's and they spend a minute just— _seeing_ each other, with the knowledge that each one's heart belongs to the other. And then he closes the distance between their mouths and he kisses his prince, soft but with purpose. Ethan's mouth opens underneath him, his stubble rubs against Benji's trim beard. The first touch of Ethan's tongue against Benji's is a revelation. It's the best thing he's ever felt. Apparently, Ethan's thinking along the same lines, because he groans into Benji's mouth and Benji feels that to his core. In a split second their tongues are tangled up, their hands are roaming over each other, desperately searching for something they won't get in an alcove in a castle during a ball. With reluctance, they pull apart. Ethan's mouth is red and his cheeks flushed.

"We need to get out of here," Benji pants.

"Your carriage awaits, love," Ethan says, his voice low.

"Indeed?"

"I sent Painted Lady and Swallowtail home in the Rolls. So we're taking the van."

"The van? Perfect. I might have fantasized about getting you alone in the back of the van once or twice," Benji says as they walk toward the castle gates, bumping shoulders along the way.

Ethan grins. "I happen to know the perfect parking spot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I can't get enough of these two. <3


End file.
